Heartless
by OTPhilia
Summary: "Have you ever been in love?" she asked, serious and almost painfully. It was unlikely for the fun-loving batshit crazy, Harley Quinn. She'd been in-love; at least she knew it was love, not the Stockholm syndrome kind of thing. And in that love –most people (everyone agrees) that she's been unlucky. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
1. Chapter 1

**OTPhilia** : Yeah…I shouldn't have done this. NAH, TOO LATE. I'm so engrossed by the complexity and abstruse of their relationship. I love the movie but I hate the guy who cut so many of Jared's supposed scenes. HECK ALL OF THE DELETED SCENES.

Series of one-shot that weren't supposed to exist.

 **DISCLAIMER APPLIES:** I OWN NO SHIT (JUST THE TERRIBLE WRITING OF THIS PARTICULAR STORY). DON'T SUE OR IMMA GET MISTAH J ON YOU.

Without further ado!

* * *

Heartless.

Compos Mentis.

* * *

 _Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is soordinary that the whippers are in love too._

 **-William Shakespeare, As You Like It**

* * *

A giggle comes out from her mouth. A giggle that seems so soft and captivating...

Giggle.

Giggle.

Giggle.

She thought of wonderful things. Maybe that's why she's so openly happy, despite of her predicament _. Maybe_... She thought of her Puddin's face. Remembering him. His palish face, his red-stained lips, his striking green orbs and of course, the  
tattoos. A frown was suddenly plastered on her face, her Puddin's image was blurry! She tried and tried, yet the image remains the same. Hazy. Blurry. Undefined.

How many days have she been here? Four... Five... Six...

Perhaps seven months... In this godforsaken cage. She wasn't an animal, she's a Queen.

A Queen of Clowns.

She continues to giggle. _When in trouble, always laugh... Then I'll hear it and know where you are_. Her giggle heighten its volume, she can see it in her eyes that a guard was flinching.

She giggled again.

Giggle.

Giggle.

Giggle.

She feigned a surprise when a baton smacked the bars of her cage. The guard was leaning on them, a baton on his hand, swaying it in the air, "Hey dollface, what're you giggling about?"

"I was thinkin'."

"Thinking about, what exactly?"

"Dirty things to do to you when you come in here." She purred, seductively, she knew well enough how to make them break.

* * *

Giggle.

 _Scream._

Giggle.

 _Scream_.

Her luscious lips were dripping with blood...not hers. The pitiful guard had stopped fighting a minute or so, his eyes rolled back in his head. She tasted the blood. _Giggle_. More guards were now pouring outside her cell, ready to shock her with  
that awful Taser gun again. She smiles up at them, throwing the body away like a child does to a toy when they're bored. "His neck doesn't taste that good." She said, so innocently, yet her eyes spoke of mischief.

Then she laughs.

She welcomed the incoming shock that awaits her, still laughing and remembered Puddin's sweet words.

 _When in trouble, always laugh... Then I'll hear it and know where you are._


	2. Chapter 2

Heartless.

Paraphernalia.

* * *

 _You give but little when you give of your possessions._

 _It is when you give of yourself that you truly give._

 **-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet**

* * *

The bed inside her cage was no more.

Not after she bit the tongue out of the new guard... Jason, was it? She laughs at the memory of his sheer stupidity as he thought that she would kiss him and get away with it easily. Doesn't he know she was dear Puddin's Queen! _Mistah J's property only!_ She had screamed at him before chuckling. The ratty old bed wasn't a big of deal, oh no, but an itsy bitsy little thingamajig she hid inside the mattress. Before they took it, she had acted as if she's hugging it, saying things that she's going to miss it, but what they didn't see was her left hand was snaking up to pull the necklace out of the mattress, and gripping it in a tight fist. None of the guards are any of the wiser, and she thanked whoever was responsible to hire those dingbats.

She may be sleeping on the cold, hard ground but the remaining pendant, of what's been left of her necklaces she had worn during date night, is still at her possession. She's happy, for now.

They had confiscated everything from her, her earrings, her freedom, even her dress -except for that sole necklace. She did hide it inside her mouth and the orderlies were too alarmed to search her thoroughly, growling when their prying hands came in any closer. Harley was perfectly content when they let her off.

Mister J had given that to her, almost all of her belongings were from him. He'd given her everything. But not his love, eh? Harley smacked that particular thought away _. Puddin' loves me. I know he does. He gives me rings, diamonds and pretty dresses-_

 _And bruises and welts and pain. The list goes on._

 _You don't understand him like the way I do!_

 _You understand the way he laughs when he slaps you, and the times he'd pushed you in the window, many times._

 _That's because I annoy him, I made him do those things! I deserve it!_

 _Yes you are, and you do, stupid girl._

 _Shut up! He loves me!_

Harley banged her head on a bar, while clutching her ears with her hands. She laughed despite the throbbing pain on her head then squeezing her eyes shut, he loves me, Harley lay down on the concrete floor. She wouldn't cry just because the voice inside her head was taunting her, no, she would be delighted because a piece of him was with her. A remembrance of home. The feeling of security.

She clenched the necklace and felt the letters digging on her palm. Harley could imagine him in her head, although foggy, grinning, holding out a small velvet box to her, _"open it, baby."_ a necklace with his name on it. Harley always knew that she was his, and her heart fluttered with joy. The longing and despair were somehow diminishing as she held the necklace on her chest.

 _He loves me._


	3. Chapter 3

Heartless.

Epoch.

* * *

 _MEMORY'S SO TREACHEROUS. ONE MOMENT YOU'RE LOST IN A CARNIVAL OF DELIGHTS,WITH POIGNANT CHILDHOOD AROMAS , THE FLASHING NEON OF PUBERTY, ALL THAT SENTIMENTAL CANDY-FLOSS ..._

 _THE NEXT , IT LEADS YOU SOMEWHERE YOU DON'T WANT TO GO..._

 _...SOMEWHERE DARK AND COLD, FILLED WITH THE DAMP, AMBIGUOUS SHAPES OF THINGS YOU'D HOPED WERE FORGOTTEN._

 **-Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke**

* * *

It was funny how the table turned out when she's sitting here and not there outside. A presumably middle aged woman sat on a chair just outside her cage; surrounded with those pussies they called guards holding their taser toys.

"How are you feeling?" The woman asked, staring at her, eyes blank yet she was gripping her pen. This was going to be fun.

"I'm bored, doctor! It's good to have a piece of feminine company, ya know? These brutes don't wanna play any more with me!" Harley responded, her enthusiastic voice echoing around the place.

Doctor Bergersen sat still, "You do play with them rather differently."

"Would you like to play?" a sudden glint sparked in her eyes, either the woman had perceived it or not, she said nothing.

The uneasy doctor faked a cough, disregarding Harley's subliminal question, "Would you like to talk about the voices?"

Harley gruffed, _what a bore!_ "No. They don't wanna talk. Not right now at least."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Why don't we talk about you, doctor? Why don't we talk about about your days at University of Cambridge or Stanford, was it? hmmm?" Harley smiled wildly at the woman's shocked expression. She was trying to hit a nerve, and she knew it was bullseye.

However, as the woman began to compose herself, her demeanor seems to gloom a little bit. Harley likes it. Doctor Bergersen sat straighter; if that's even possible, and looked down to see something -papers _. A document_ , Harley assumes a document of herself.

"If I'm the patient then now you must be Doctor Quinzel." she simply said, voice higher and wafted through.

Harley moved a little, and then crawls closer. The guards were twitching, just a thumb away on their guns. She halted before the metallic bar could shock her. Harley clearly saw the smirk that was prettily etched on the doctor's face. She's challenging her.

"Do you remember her, Miss Quinn, do you know a Harleen Quinzel?"

 _I do._

A distant memory transients before her eyes, lingering on for a moment...in another world.

A flash of a sincere smile.

A flash of non-prescribed glasses.

A flash of innocence.

A flash of a young woman.

 **Harleen Quinzel**.

Harley knew Harleen more than anybody. Harleen had been a girl with so much potential, insights, talent and had vision of her bright future. The perfect girl. Harley smiled to herself; she was the exact opposite of her. Unlike Harley, she had a beauty that shone with purity and adoration. But she had flaws too. No one was perfect, after all, no matter how good you are at everything. Raw curiosity led to her eventual death. Well, curiosity and love, those two were utter chaos. And chaos had engulfed Harleen Quinzel.

 _What a beautiful creature to be so sad and lonely._

Memories long forgotten and buried, and now they seem surreal and torturous. It was a nightmare for Harley Quinn, a past she meant to overlook of what she was then.

Memories that haunted her still.

 _Will you come with me to the deepest, darkest of hell, my Persephone? Would you want to be my Queen of everything and nothing? Can you taste the destruction that waits on your very soul until the fire of wickedness consumes you fully, without a chance of no return?_

 _Yes._


	4. Chapter 4

Heartless.

Persephone.

* * *

 _It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice._

 **-Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness**

* * *

"What a beautiful creature to be so sad and lonely," he said, softly and velvety, a whisper in the air. "Too beautiful perhaps. There is a fire in you, I know of it, a flame that'll burst and burn everyone alive. Do you not tire of hiding yourself? Dressed in that costume of pretense, a puppet of the system, a harlequin..." He stopped shortly, thinking, analyzing, she didn't know what.

"Harlequin. Harley Quinn! Ha! See what I did there, Harley?" He threw his head back and laughs. Amuse and deranged, that's what he is.

Harleen said nothing, only gazes at him, captivated and allured by him. Always him. Notepads and pen were useless now, that he knew, she wouldn't record any of their sessions. Not since an understanding has been made. A contract of surreptitious between them.

His crazed laughter died down.

And he looks at her. _Beautiful_ , but _sad_ , she wants something she couldn't have. He knows because longing was in her ocean eyes. The young woman in front of him was trapped into oblivion of falsehood, a life of monotonous cycle. She was aware of it.

 _Lonely_...her actions proved it. Oh how she smell of daisies and peppermint and solitary, he knew she has no one, why would she doom herself in a draggle of a place like this? She could have use that immaculate comeliness for any famished lads out there, she'll have them clawing at her feet -instead she has chosen this shack to someday wither like a rose in a dessert. A hellhole for the norms, home for the people like him, and underworld for her. But he perceives it rather astonishingly that she was as enchanted by the crazies as they are with her.

She was painfully beautiful, sad and lonely, and she shone like a sore thumb in this covert.

He knew the signs. A once upon a time story where he felt those things, lived for those things, and died for those things. A foolish act for foolish people. Never mind, he snarled to himself, we'll break her even more.

The Joker was darkness himself. He couldn't save her, even if he tried. She was choosing the wrong prince. Walking on a knife instead of a thread. Excitingly enough, she yearns for it, her clandestine smile said so.

She was falling too damn hard, and he knew, he would always knew, she'd crash in a excruciating death -maybe even worse, she'd lived for the tragedy.

She was too beautiful, a sacred nectar, a gem, a chaste maiden skipping on the dead flowers of Tartarus. Oh what a day would be when her very own tragedy will topple over her! Destroying that aura of aesthetic.

 _She'd make a beautiful monster._

* * *

 **OTPhilia _:_** The reviews makes me smile so much like a lunatic T.T Thank you for making me jumpy with excitement. It is an honor to write to all of you, there will be more.

As a token of appreciation, Mistah J will be in the next chapter ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Heartless.

Telltale.

* * *

 _Be with me always –take any form- drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!_

- **Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights**

* * *

A laugh is all that he needs.

Just one crazed laugh and he'll know, just as he promised her that he'll always find her. No matter the distance. The primary problem was –try as he might, he couldn't hear her. The sounds escaping her sweeet lips, which had annoyed him most times, were long gone. If he's being true to himself, he'd actually admit that he mi-…

 _Oh what mockery!_

" _I don't need anyone –not even you."_

He'd said that once, perhaps, multiple times to her. Slapping her on the process. And she'd smile that dazzling smile of hers, not caring a damn thing about her own, then she'd apologized. She always did. As if trying to appease him, all of his violent outbursts –he'd finally noticed –that she would come back for him, to bend her knees just for him, somehow a slave to all of his will.

 _Why?_

He laughs, not knowing at all, why indeed? _A stupid girl, that's why_. _A stupid, naïve girl hoping she could save him_. No one can, not now, and not after she's gone either. Maybe even dead or alive…he grimaces at the part of his brain for hoping at the latter.

 _Desire_ _becomes surrender, surrender becomes power_. But he wasn't feeling any more powerful, not now in this fucking state, not without her. He surrendered to this, an underlain grief of hollowness, and in return it led him to his undoing.

He knows a broken man once he sees him, even in a mask –just like Batsy 'ol pal, he knew emotions like he knew his clubs. Right now the world may burn in this moment because he doesn't want to know his emotions. He doesn't want that antagonizing feeling in his chest, the damned ache! He doesn't want any part of this –this suffering. He could've dive in into that chemical once again and be reborn into his former self…without feeling any affection, not to anyone, and by anyone it meant her. _Oh god._ Stop it. _Stop fucking feeling it!_

His hand was ready to plunge the center of his chest, by a knife…he stops before he could damage himself more. A throb was the sole reason. His pulse. It was rapidly beating, pumping up his blood, wanting him to live. _Would you live for me?_ Joker chuckled dryly, and then it turns into a raving, delirious laughter.

A pulse

A pulse is what he wants right now.

No, not his. No, No, No.

Hers.

To let him know she's alive. And her laugh.

God, her laugh.

"If there is truly a God, don't take that laugh away from her." He muttered, not opening up his eyes, not bothering to care when his left hand was badly gashed by a knife that was in a fatal position. Just above his head.

He sworn he's a goddamned mess right now. An utter piece of shit. If Harley could see him, oh how he wishes she would, she'll laugh at him and tell him _"You do need me."_

 _Yes, I do._

I do.

He laughs still, not finding the joke but himself, _what a comical situation_.

* * *

 **OTPhilia** : J's somewhat perspective! Because I can't really do a full Mr. Joker POV, he's too intense and arduous to delineate, and I might have badly done it in an OOC way.


	6. Chapter 6

Heartless.

Fragments.

* * *

 _Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer-both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams._

 **-Bram Stoker, Dracula**

* * *

 _"Beautiful."_ She whispered, the breeze carrying her words gently and too silently. The area around her was a stunning backdrop to her spasmodic wanderings, as she was breathing in serenity, a quiet interlude for the personas inside her head. The scattering of lights in different locations seemed like stars to her. Unmoving and candescent.

A very contradiction of the crime-filled city that was Gotham.

Not even Batsy's obvious sigil was on the cloud. _Not today_. Maybe he's finally hibernating, _good for B-man!_

The night was eerily calm, a gunshot couldn't be heard, no blaring sirens and no cries for help. This was definitely odd. And nothing smells of blood.

"She is, isn't she?" She was slightly startled by the sudden intrusion, then calming herself, knowing his sultry voice.

Harley felt his enigmatic presence and, of course, his distinctive pinewoods smell that he could only pull off. He was just behind her. She could tell by his breathing —Harley grinned, he was breathing on the scent of her hair.

She turned around, excitedly, meeting his abysmal gaze. Something inside her chest flutters, adding the ardor she felt at the moment. "She sure is, Puddin'! Lady Gotham is fast asleep, but I think she's more beautiful when there is a little bit of chaos, no?" eyes glinting in fascination, she couldn't keep her mischief in check. _Not without Puddin's company_.

His hand caresses her cheek, "I was looking at you, you know." that does it, that was the only

Incentive for Harley Quinn before giggling madly and pulling him for a deep kiss.

* * *

"He manipulated you, Miss Quinn."

 _Yes._ "No, he's been good to me."

"He made you believe to whatever he said."

 _Yes_. "No, he's true to me."

"He'd lied to you, and then broke you."

 _Yes_. "No, he'd never done that."

"He only cares about himself; he doesn't give affection, only brutality and violence. A sociopath."

 _Yes_. "No, he cares about me."

"He abuses you both mentally and physically."

 _Yes_.

No.

"He used you."

 _Yes_.

No.

 **Yes!**

 **NO!** "No, You don't know anything."

* * *

He pulled himself out of their fervid kiss, while she groaned in disappointment.

"Nah-uh." Joker swayed his forefinger in front of her face, "Save that for later, Pumpkin Pie, 'cause I got you this tiny whatnot."

She clapped her hands together, dismay dissolving rather quickly, a smile spread wide. Harley hadn't noticed his other hand was holding something, still out of her view. He took a step back, extending his closed fist before opening it.

She stared at him, "A button...?" she can't help the sound of letdown coming from her voice, yet she still smiled, ever so achingly.

"Uh-huh." Something in his eyes sparkled. And it wasn't just the lights below them. He laid it to her open hand, motioning for her to accept it, "Press it and you'll see."

A loud explosion came in the midst of the city, destroying peace and security, the ground vibrated and the tall building they're on has its minuscule effect . Harley, clearly jumped at the suddenness of the detonation, was now leaning on the Joker's chest. His laughter echoed inside her ears which brought her to compose herself and comprehending the scene.

She giggled not long after he laughed. _Brilliant,_ he was. Harley looks at the new update of Gotham; smoke and ashes were blending in the carbonated air; ambulance, fire trucks and police cars' sirens were mixing in the noise; her vision danced in the colors blue, red, green and purple. She could dance to the harsh lights, the music of blaring sirens and screaming people are enough to make her giddy and dance with relish.

"Chaos is truly beautiful." He said, and she looked at him once more, grinning, again his eyes fixed intently on hers. She couldn't decipher whether he's addressing the scenery before them.

But with that look in his eyes, she knew the answer.


	7. Chapter 7

Heartless.

Hope.

* * *

 _I envy people that know love. That have someone who takes them as they are_.

 **-Jess C. Scott, The Devilin Fey**

* * *

Brendan Isles is the one who's in charge for her daily provisions. He's the one who would assist her at her every need, whether she likes it or not, he's got no choice either. An orderly for a psychopathic girl, who can definitely take him down within a minute.

"A risky job for a craven like you, I say!" His dear father said, and for once in his life, Brendan fully agreed.

It was already 12:30 in the afternoon. Harley's feeding time.

Brendan wearily sighed, hoping for the day to end, maybe even hoping for a normal day with sheer luck favoring him.

He should've not chosen this occupation, well, he wouldn't have chosen this particular lifestyle if it wasn't for Mr. Hiram Isles.

Brendan didn't even want to take any part of the military, it was in the bottom of the list for him, and he just loves life too much to spend it fighting for a loss cause.

But here he was.

 _Pitiful_.

"Stop daydreaming and get yo' ass in there, Isles!"

Grunting, Brendan readied all of his equipment with indifference. He could only just stare at him -asshole Griggs- when he's being bossy and nasty again. _Someday, someone's gonna put you in place_. Brendan couldn't do anything when Griggs is taunting her, saying tawdry names and being an all time asshole Griggs again.

He may be a part of the military, but he can't stand up to his superior for the account of him to be just an errand boy - that or maybe he's a plain coward.

He _is_ a coward, simple but coward nonetheless.

Harley was strapped to a metal chair, arms and knees held tightly, she even got that leather mask —which reminded him of a rabid dog. Sometimes, he questions humanity. She's still a human, not a vicious animal from badlands. Well, she is vicious and deadly, and lethal, but she's a person too. Like any others and like him. _How did it get like this?_ Generally, he could only probe from late night eavesdropping from Paul Kache and Sherman Giorgio's yabbering when he's feeling gossipy —that she was a psychologist once. Harley Quinn; an uptight, work-driven psychiatrist? Who'd have thought...?

Vital information had been achieved by his nosy self, a confidential he'd gathered; before she's gotten crazy, her patient was Joker. The Joker, mighty crime Prince of Gotham. He'd managed to sweet talk her, and that was her undoing. Or perhaps it's the electroshock therapy-torture... _So tragic, altogether_.

This is an everyday routine for both of them— she'll be bind, gagged, and forced to have a feeding tube inside her mouth -worse, nose. Injecting her with those sleeping drugs and godforsaken hallucinogens. They're not curing her, oh no, someone wanted her to be that way— to suffer wholly. They're making her worse. If the roles were reversed between them - he'll have to kill himself _. She's a tough girl, but not enough bravery can save her from their shady tortures._

There is one consolation though, she'll have her own cell with privacy, feeding tube will be gone, and injections would be minimal if she reveals the Joker's hideouts. Brendan could easily remember the General's face in fury when she laughed and expectorate at his face. She's many things, and cowardice was not amongst them. He wished he had that.

Maybe it's love. It makes fools out of men, and courage out of women. A fuckup, that's what most people thought of her, but she was quick-witted and headstrong, that he knew, she wasn't afraid to be herself and to choose a dangerous path like that was as ten times bold, why couldn't he be just like her?

 _Minus the craziness, of course_.

If he'd stood up to his father back then, maybe he's capturing beautiful sceneries by now — not witnessing a beautiful crack lady bit Sherman Giorgio's left ear out.

"Isles! Strap Her Hotness and give her a little bit of those sedatives," sighing, Brendan regretted every decision his father made for him. "Don't forget to clean that blood off the ground and make sure Her Hotness spit out the ear!"

He really should have taken Photography.


	8. Chapter 8

Heartless.

Inferno.

* * *

 _She walks in beauty, like the night_

 _Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

 _And all that's best of dark and bright_

 _Meet in her aspect and her eyes..._

 **-George Gordon Byron**

* * *

"Maybe." she answered.

The girl's blue eyes were transfixed on her, staring up at her like she's dissecting her, uncovering all of her clothes and breaking into her mind akin she usually do to everybody else. Grunting, she took a sharp look at the woman inside the electric bars.

They said she was the Queen of Gotham.

Looking at her whitewashed face and hollow eyes, Queen was no definition of her. She was an animal inside a cage. A beast trapped inside its cavern. It's all that she is, for now, and Amanda Waller is going to take that to her advantage. When a queen is dethroned, there comes a new one to take the crown. But Amanda's not going to take the crown by herself; she's going to have someone do the dirty work for her. She was a queen too; of deception, of corruption, after all.

Harley fills her laugh in derangement, "You must be an angel then,"

"How so?" Amanda stops in front of her cage in a reasonable length away.

"Lucifer was an angel once, didn't he? The fallen angel."

"Ah yes, he was." Amanda decided that she'll entertain the young woman, "He was the glorified angel, beauty was him, but he wasn't the kindest one."

"No, but he was a true angel and God didn't like that. The kindest of heart makes the coldest of stone. Angels are truly the demonic ones."

"Why?"

"Sometimes the people who call themselves good are the most dangerous of them all, but angels aren't people, are they? I don't trust them chubby cheeks and wings —devils have them too, right?" Harley Quinn looks at her with searching sea of eyes, "You're not good and yet not entirely bad. You may fool them but not me, lady." The seriousness in her voice broke when she laughs again.

* * *

Amanda was astonished to see the video footage of her. The Queen in the cage. To see her take down the guards were something Amanda was secretly proud of. Harley Quinn could be an interesting asset, just as she was elated by June Moone.

She's intelligent, more than she let on. Amanda was sure of that. The psychiatrist in her hadn't really left — she just evolved something greater and powerful. She may be locked inside a prison and be thrown into a measly cage but she wasn't the prisoner. Amanda was. Harley Quinn was the realest of them all.

 _An angel_...

Maybe that's why. The fallen angel had been the top of his place. He knew so many things and had been good, and he was condemned for being true to himself. Who is the true evil in this world? _Not who, but what... Love. Love is evil_. Amanda reread the information about the crazed young queen in the cage, she saw her hollow eyes - the ones that had been staring at her blackest of soul, _If I have any soul_ , just moments ago. Mad love made her that - or maybe she was mad already... Even so, Amanda couldn't help herself to be amazed by her. Harley Quinn is truly a complex specimen.

 _The kindest of heart makes the coldest of stone_...

And Harleen Quinzel was beautiful and pure and kind of an angel before she was dragged to hell.


	9. Chapter 9

Heartless.

Dysfunction.

* * *

 _I'll not lie there by myself; they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me; but I won't rest until you are with me...I never will!_

 **-Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights**

* * *

He made his own circle of hell.

The kind of things that use to inflict pain and suffering are laid around him. All fashionably still and ready to be put to good usage if needed so. _No... They'll stay like that_ , he decided. His hand was itching to grab the nearest pointy dagger and flew it to a random henchman. _No_ , that could wait too.

But first he needs a little flicker of flame to be just the perfect hell.

Everything surrounding him is his favorite. The pain— he lives off on it. All of them made something in his life to become what he is right now. He breathes of anguish of himself.

His eyes snapped to a certain spot, he saw blues and pink. Clothes that aren't for adults. Clothes that he shouldn't had bought. Those that aren't supposed to exist in his presence.

She wanted to have kids.

Those pesky little buggers— she wants them. She may not directly say it to him, but he knew she loves to have them. _Something combines the two of us_ , she reasoned while cooing and snuggling in his lap. The idea of an offspring thoroughly disturbed his mind and he ended up pushing her away, and she laughed it off.

The day came when she jumped for joy.

The greatest treasure for her was not the diamond, sapphire tiara of Queen Maxima—the one she would blabber how pretty it was, _oh no_ , but that stick with the two lines. She had never been so enthusiastic in her life.

 _"Lucy,"_ she said, she was so sure. She was too smitten with the thing inside her. Doing motherly tasks such as knitting— she hadn't knitted once in her life. Decorating the baby's room with splashing colors of pink and blues, symbols of skulls and hearts. She was maternally crazy.

He would sometimes catch her trace her fingers on her belly, smiling to herself and humming a sweet melody. It was a lovely sight, although he wouldn't confess that. Not back then.

Or not ever.

He hadn't even known the precise gender before he heard her frantic screams that night.

 _God_ , she hadn't screamed like that.

She was hysterical —mad even. He wasn't used to that kind of delusion. It was different. It is frightening.

She filled their place with her painful screaming, god; he didn't know what to do back then. In her state of turmoil she had killed a few henchmen along the way.

But nothing compares the blame of killing their baby.

"I shouldn't have been so reckless!" She screamed her lungs out, tears were pooling out of her red eyes. An imposing shard was in her hand, ruby that was her blood had dripped along the way down on her wrist. Her white pregnant dress, she likes to call them, was then tattered and grim-looking, the blood earlier tracing to her legs had dried. The insanity in her eyes was visible and he had no options but to snap her out of her dementia by embracing her. It was a long one, indeed, agonizing and bitter.

Days past she struggled, barely living, just coping instead. Scarcely leaving outside her room, she would lay on their bed, not moving, never showing signs of being alive. He was agitated to the point where he'd stopped working to look after her. She was a fucking mess. Constantly blaming herself, for her lack of awareness, for being too giddy.

He had recalled something he said. Back when she was a glowing woman holding out the test, jumping, giggling in joy, and in shock to that particular news he had said something. It made her stop. The horror in her expression was evident, yes, but there had been an emotion she hardly shows to him, anger. He didn't remember much to what happened after that fight but he let her keep that thing. She was goddamned happy and it ended up the reason for her to be lifeless, like their child. _Their_. He wouldn't say it to her that he'd expected for the baby to be well and alive. It was hers and his, after all. It was not her fault, the blame was on him the moment he said out loud, _"I hope it dies, it'll give me and you a favor."_ He wondered if she'd forgotten, he doubts she did, that is the most hurtful he'd ever said and his brutal words were only a temperamental slip but it seems like a grim prophecy now.

He closes his eyes, the colors of tiny blue and pink clouded his vision.

He did everything to bring her back.

Slowly, and she did.

Gone was the despondency of his Sepulchral Queen and Harley Quinn was more alive than ever. She seemed to forget the tragedy, but forgotten the child she did not. He would, sometimes, catch her in the dead of the night outside in that room— that godforsaken room where she would seemingly hold an endless vigil. He hadn't said anything as long as she does not harm herself anymore. He let her be herself, for once, without really reprehending her.

But as soon as she begun to be her usual self, that wretched night when Bat had captured her and he lose her again.

He glimpses at the roses among the circle. Why does he have roses? Of course, she loved roses. And she loved their baby too. They were all the sort of destruction that had caused them pain. Immense tragedy hadn't left her when they'd first met in that dumpy place of a asylum. He promised her grand things but not of happiness, she chose this. He wouldn't blame her if it ever comes a time she decides to leave him—but she didn't. And he wouldn't leave her too.

He would get her.

She lived for him even after the loss of their unborn child. It is now the time for him to live for her. He's done being a fuckup, it's time for him to use all of his willpower 'cause quite frankly these knives and guns around him are nothing compare to the pain of not seeing her, feeling her in his arms.

"Bring the car around. We're going for a drive..."

He will get her.

He promised.


	10. Chapter 10

Heartless.

Star-Crossed.

* * *

 _"She has been unlucky in love," said the Tin Woodman, "Like the rest of us."_

 **-Gregory Maguire, Wicked**

* * *

She remembers the past with swirling colors of blue, red and green.

 _Green_...like the color of toxic. Toxic the smell of acid, and acid was her ichor.

"I do."

 _Foolish, little Harley Quinn._

 _Green_... the color of his hair. _Not his real one though_ , he would have dye his hair already before any of them notice the brownish roots growing in his head. But Harley perceives it first, even before he knew.

She wonders why he'd stuck to green. Colors mostly represent an attitude or a prospect symbol. _That's what the uppity bitch knows_. White is for peace, red for passion, purple for royalty, and all those connections whatsoever, but it have so many meanings that white is also for death, red for bloodshed and purple can also be of devotion.

Green, however, is more than money. More than a shade of a leaf, so much more than a new watered grass. _It is life._

 _Stop it. Stop it. Stop it._

Green is renewal of life. Like the steaming acid below.

 _Is that what you say to yourself when you decided to jump into your doom?_

 _ **Stop...**_

 _Blue_ was the color of her blouse before she became what she is right now. The final skin of Harleen Quinzel before the acid angrily gnawed at it. It burned; the acid touched her and blazed her whole being like a fire and electricity were cursing through her in and out, they burned, so goddamned hot, as was his kiss when he gave life to her. His kiss is the bliss to her raging pain as the acid kissed her too.

They mixed up so easily and prettily in that bath of theirs. And ever since that night, a huge part of her is in trait of him. She was reborn.

She is like him now.

Their blood is not the color of red, but of yellow and made of acid.

The memory was kept inside the very back of her mind, recollections of the other her, to bury them and hopefully not to remember. Yet it seems like a whirlwind of flashbacks before her eyes... In the form of colors. _Green and blue_.

* * *

"You ever been in-love?" she asks.

Floyd Lawton had been faced with many problems in his life, but not with a personalized gun by a lunatic of a lady.

Harley Quinn, he knew her name and her infamy. _Who wouldn't?_ She is the royal batshit crazy of Gotham. The insanity is within the depths of her Mattel-like-Barbie persona but with a sick twist. Her sweet pretty face can fool a naïve person, and Deadshot's everything but naïve.

"No." He answered, sporting a blank expression.

Maybe he did at some point.

His beloved daughter was the fruit of that love. He didn't regret anything though. Neither when his lady separated him because _'I don't see any future with you if you continue to be a criminal that you are.'_ He thought she accepted him, even his job, but the bitch wasn't contented. She didn't understand that it's the only thing he knows he's good at, and at least he'd gave her a roof over her damn head and food to her insatiable hunger. No, he didn't regret changing himself for her. His only regret in his life was allowing the bitch with her new jackass boyfriend to treat his Zoe like that. _Soon, I'll see you princess_ , he thought. He loves her daughter and that's his biggest weakness, and the boss ass lady sure does know how to make him bend. Hell, the people, and the scary lizard, in this group are somehow hell bent to her will. _Even smug-ass Flag_.

"Bullshit." The Queen of Clowns said.

But there is a tinge of peculiarity in her voice; something that is out of ordinary...although nothing's about her is ordinary. There had been sadness. And surmounted grief hidden in layers and layers of practiced speech.

He wants to ask her.

Floyd Lawton had actually wanted to ask whatever what's going on her messed up mind. He could easily sense something meters away. And she had zoned out for a couple of minutes, staring down at the flight of stairs — staring down into her own nothingness. As if her eyes is uncovering her a thousand secrets of pain and fragments of remembrance.

She is an odd one, that Harley Quinn. All smile and giggles and the next thing you know she's locked up inside her own mind and would not hesitate to pull a gun at you if you ever try to talk to her. Maybe her man had made her that way. To be as cynical as him. But Joker didn't know that she is a fragile little thing. Despite of her fearless exterior, she is showing a façade just to impress him _. The guy's a piece of shit, that's what he is, and a misanthropic douche that beats his own lady_. She's a one tough masochist, that's for sure.

Floyd understood her, somehow, he did. She's just like him— like the rest of this suicide squad, all had a rough profile and absolutely misguided. They're all branded heathens by the mass. She wasn't heartless like they say, in fact; she is a large heart in a mortal body. A pure soul that is tainted by its maker. Floyd didn't understand why he's thinking such things about the madwoman, but he did, and he looked at her sorrowful eyes once again.

She had been locked up because she has been in-love. It's not her fault; _it was that fucking emotion that called love_. It should have been illegal instead of marijuana. If she ever asks him that question again, maybe he'll answer truthfully. Maybe just to get a reaction from her. Or a genuine smile she rarely use. _It kinda suits her._

Deadshot's eyebrow creased in worry, _why the hell am I thinking stuff like that?_

A strong woman like her should have left a man who's been constantly abusing her. His wife had left him although he wasn't a brute, he wouldn't hurt women like a pussy.

Maybe she craves for it, or she had been used to it that the pain no longer hurt. Was it too late to save herself? Sure he may not be the first one to love her, but hell that psycho wouldn't be the last. Floyd didn't even know if Joker at least loved Harley _. No, Joker doesn't know love_. It is throughly confusing and nerve wracking — love is.

Bullshit indeed.

* * *

 **OTPHILIA** : Here's a little bit of Deadshotfluff. Will Smith and Margot's chemistry is kinda cute. But! no one beats JaredxMargot

THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS AND THOSE WHO MADE THIS STORY AS ONE OF THEIR FAVORITES AND FOLLOWED THIS STORY. It has been an overwhelming ride! This will be the end BUT there's the last chapter after this! I hope you like it, and again, **THANK YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ THIS**.


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